Hell Hound: Wake Up
by AnotherLifeOfWar
Summary: Time went on, yet they clutched to the past like parasites. There is no cure for emotional turmoil. Time doesn't heal, and the past doesn't magically go away. And to hell with what they say, survival isn't just about staring death in the face and getting away from it. Survival is everyday of one's life, forever...until death catches up and grabs us by the throat. Biggz/OC


**A/N**: This story is the sequel to _HH: Savaged_. There is a slight difference however, POV will be changed from first person to third person. Oh and this is set about a year and 5 months later. Just a heads up. Enjoy, readers. ~

Disclaimer: I do not own any ATB characters. I only own Alexandra. Cheers.

* * *

A hand dug into the sodden grounds below his body, where he currently sat. He held an umbrella above his head as rain splattered all around his line of vision. The boy lazily rummaged long, calloused fingers into the dirt, pulled it out and took handfuls of that same material with him. A shaky hand squeezed in distress, and the speckles of wet Earth turned to a stony liquid, leaving traces of mud on his bruised hands.

The tombstone in front of him had in its surface a familiarity that burnt at his tongue as he read it, tasting the words as tears, or maybe it had been the rain after all. Having to say it to himself hurt more than the dreams, and even the memories. The dreams, he could easily evade by refusing to sleep...but eh memories had been a nuisance for they stuck around much longer than necessary.

The memories were harder to usher away, traces of them still remained in everyday places, habitual situations, when eating, or thinking he could smell that acquainted cologne, even if it was JUST the rain. Hell, he opened up the gallery of hundreds of images in his cellphone and he'd find 'memories'. They were everywhere, small reminders that change was inevitable, and that, miserably enough, inevitability crashed down like a 16-wheeler.

There were thoughts inside his head, dead thoughts, shallow ones, SICK ones, and they presented themselves in such manner, that it almost seemed normal. A few years ago he'd be laughing his ass off at thoughts like those, hell, he wouldn't even reconsider them. Those were things an abnormal mind would phantom, like the mind he had the pleasure of carrying around nowadays.

He'd grab a knife to split a sandwich, or cut some carrots or onions, and the random bubbling inside him began. His heart would beat faster and faster, he'd clutch the knife tighter and placed it over his wrist. Tears would leak from his eyes and he'd blame the onions, or he'd blame the sweat, but he had no excuse for the sobbing. Eventually, he threw the knife far away and went to the balcony to have a smoke.

Or...he'd find himself here, in the cemetery where the dead were far more inviting than the living. Because at least the bodies under the ground didn't judge or didn't splutter nonsense, because they literally couldn't. Because they were DEAD and rotting. They understood, and he was glad they both had something in common.

Moses was rotting from the inside. Just like his brothers were too, and even though she was always bright and attentive, Sam was rotting slowly too...slowly...but effectively. He'd look at Alexa and he'd see the distant eyes, sometimes she'd just be sitting there laughing along with whatever Biggz or Pest said and in a moment she'd stop laughing instantly, her mind going far away. Sometimes she didn't come back until after she took a nap or whatever, and on rare occasions, it took her days to land back down from the oceans of space where her cruel thoughts remained.

It took a year to get through the legal process of it all, a few months of community service and long hours of counseling and psychiatric help. He snorted, because the human stuff was easy and for them to get shocked, indignant and angry was common, and then they'd move on. Suddenly, the survivors, those POOR boys, yeah, they didn't even care for them anymore. They were left to rot, inside and out.

He damn well knew that it would take a fucking lifetime to forget, and sadly enough, that lifetime hadn't even started for them yet. And in the cemetery waste, where the rotted (inside and out) bodies were stacked like livestock ready to be cooked and eaten, he familiarized himself more and he felt at ease. He spoke of situations he'd endured throughout that year and few months after that horrible night. Dennis was below that dirt, hiding, but Moses knew he listened. His brother understood, the silence understood, and the rain comforted. It was all he really needed.

* * *

A 19 year old girl, feeble and petite, walked along the sidewalk. The humidity was killing her at the moment, and she couldn't quite wait to get home and take a long, frigid shower as she did so everyday. Her long, chestnut hair was braided back and the light wave could still be seen even if the strands were all bunched together and tied. Her hair had gotten terribly long, and it curled just above her hips.

Alexandra gave a sigh. She was tired from a long day of busy work in the diner. She'd also manage to find herself a rather well paying position in an office close to the diner, where she filed useless information and delivered papers from one section to another. Considering her nature, it was the perfect job, and she actually got paid for the laziness.

For now, however, Alexa walked back to the safety of her home. It was early, around 8 in the night and even if the dark barely engulfed her, leaving her uncomfortable. She was thankful for the streetlights however, as they gave sort of comfort. Alexa was always so jumpy as she walked back home on Fridays, she dreaded it actually. She had to trade shifts with one of the workers and she'd gotten night shift and this was the earliest they'd let her go. She hated Fridays for this reason.

She turned a corner and towards the horizon she could see her home peaking behind a few buildings. Oh, how she longed for it now, the inviting hands of the place she grew up in. It devastated her, yet managed to coax her, beckoned her to draw in closer. She feared the place, yet it was all she had. One day however, she'd get away, run away and never come back, even if it meant leaving behind the people she loved.

She grimaced at the thought, those hideous clouds that hid all the good or memorable minutes she once had. They weren't hers anymore, the moments no longer belonged to her for she could not conjure them up whenever she wished. It was all blood, darkness, and screams, even in her dreams.

The streets were filled with considerably large puddles, various in all directions. She stepped on shallow ones every now and then, her converse like a sponge, that only drenched her socks and her jeans. Alexa ignored this, for she was still inside her world. She grimaced at them, unsure whether she should pay more attention to the world outside, or the hell inside her mind.

Alexa heard it before she bolted, it was all too familiar. She passed by an alley, and upon ignoring the darkness she heard an obvious "click", as if someone had cocked a gun. The sound was all too familiar, the smell of sodden earth filtered inside her nose and, without second doubts, she ran. There was a squeal of wheels and a honk. The tremors behind her resonated but she did not stop to greet it; she only continued to run.


End file.
